


Fall to Pieces (Make a Pretty Mess)

by Owldorado



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:34:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5724523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owldorado/pseuds/Owldorado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This wasn't the sort of opportunity every trainee got. Still, there was part of Jongin that couldn't help but feel hesitant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall to Pieces (Make a Pretty Mess)

 

"They want you to do _how many_ teasers?"

"Whoooaaa!! You're so lucky!"

"It's a huge deal! Your face is going to be the first one fans see. You're going to _be_ Exo to them."

"Don't worry. I'll be there to help you out if you mess up. And by 'help you out' I mean point and laugh." (Sometimes Jongin really wondered why he was still friends with Taemin.)

Jongin heard it all when he got the big news.

Eleven teasers- twelve in the end, but he didn't count the one-take version of Teaser 1.

Twelve teasers.

Eleven different concepts.

Ten different dance routines.

Was there a partridge in a bloody pear tree waiting for him at the end of all this?

Granted, Jongin was no idiot. Well, not enough of one to overlook the incredible fortune of being picked as the company favorite for their pre-debut promotions. It was something that would define him not only for the early stages of Exo's days in the spotlight, but would follow him throughout his career. People saw something amazing in him, it would seem. This wasn't the sort of opportunity every trainee got. Or even every debuting idol, for that matter.

Still, there was part of Jongin - a sizable part - that couldn't help but feel hesitant. As aforementioned, Jongin wasn't a complete idiot. Two alone didn't equal four; it required another factor. In the same way, potential alone wouldn't get those teasers recorded. Just like potential alone hadn't gotten him through auditions. Things weren't that easy, especially not for him.

The others could pout out their disappointment and envy all they wanted. They weren't the ones being ushered off into a separate practice room five days a week for private choreography lessons. They weren't the ones who outstayed the janitor because there weren't enough hours in the day to practice himself perfect. They weren't the ones who wound up eating gummy, leftover rice and convenience store kimbap at an empty table at one in the morning because the other members were just as ravenous and dinner was first come, first serve in the Exo dorms. They weren't the ones who learned they would rather bend than break from experience, when the puppet strings holding his spine erect finally snapped, leaving a limp ragdoll to crumple on the varnished practice room floor with three weeks left to go.

It was Jongin who finally broke. It was Jongin who had to be half-carried home by Joonmyun and Minseok. It was Jongin who locked himself in the bathroom and turned on the shower only to drown out the sound of him calling his sister on the cell phone Taemin lent him. Or maybe it was the hysteric sobs she drew out of him with a mere, "Jongin, what happened?" that he didn't want anyone to hear. He had already fallen to pieces in front of everyone once that day, God forbid he let them see a second time.

It was Jongin who danced through blisters into bloody soles. It was Jongin who greeted every morning as a teenager and saw off every late, late night a bow-backed old man. It was Jongin who had to add hours to the day to dance alone, jump in with the others, and somehow find the time to memorize his lines because, oh yeah, their company centered around _musical entertainment_. (It was really no wonder they gave him the power of teleportation when the time finally came. Although he really would have preferred to have time control, if he was being honest.)

By the time recording finally rolled around Jongin was ready to be done. After subsisting for three agonizing weeks off of pain patches and pipe dreams of a good night's rest he was practically on autopilot.

This had never been what he'd had in mind when he imagined being an entertainer. Dancing for a series of glass-eyed, mechanical observers was not exactly what he'd call gratifying. Cameras couldn't scream your name back at you, nor could they clap out their approval for a job well done. It was impersonal, cold, hollow. It felt like being back at the empty dinner table. Only this time there were technicians and makeup artists waiting in the wings to make sure he looked pretty sitting there and to record the whole thing.

Had he been more lucid he might have had the mind to feel like SME's personal Barbie doll.

"Stand here."

"Move this way."

"Put more eyeshadow on him."

"Try these pants."

Set after set, costume after costume, the days passed in a haze of robotic movement and the crippling task of pouring what miserable amount of himself he had left into making it look “genuine.” Whatever the hell that meant. Later on down the road, when he tried to look back, he would find himself looking at memories through antique glass. Blips of clarity, but nothing solid to cling to. Nothing felt real in those first hours in front of the camera. _He_ certainly hadn't.

But maybe that was the whole point. After all, it wasn't supposed to be _Jongin_ dancing for them anyway, was it? That spotlight had always been for Kai.

As far as Jongin was concerned, Kai could keep it.


End file.
